


Mac and Charlie Become Hitmen

by pinkfloyd1770



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M, Some depictions of bloody violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfloyd1770/pseuds/pinkfloyd1770
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac and Charlie finally find a career path that pays well, lets them vent all their anger and frustration, and also leads to some completely non-gay (in Mac's estimation) moments of passion. </p><p>Based on fanart by eckses (eckses.tumblr.com), of the same name. http://eckses.tumblr.com/image/66482225067</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1:15 PM. Present Day

**Author's Note:**

> Eckses gave me kind permission to write a story based on the artwork, a link to which appears in the summary, and the original image of which hopefully appears at the beginning of this chapter. The summary which went along with the picture is:
> 
> Mac and Charlie Become Hitmen: an AU in which Mac and Charlie finally realise what they’re good at, and it’s hurting people. They make more money than they ever did at Paddy’s and the adrenaline rush is as addictive as any drug they’ve ever tried. They might also start making out a bit after every job, but in a totally “killing gets me high and a little horny” way, not at all in a gay way. And maybe Charlie realizes he wouldn't mind it even if it was in a gay way, but Mac still trails around after women in his down-time and Charlie’s learnt to just take what he’s given and keep his mouth shut, in case it doesn’t get given again…

 

 

 

 

 

 

**1:15 PM. Present Day**

 

Charlie sat on the trunk of a 1965 baby blue Chevorlet, eating an apple. The skin was bright green, same color as the leaves of the trees and ferns a few feet from where the car was parked. Juice from the fruit dribbled down Charlie's lips and chin. He licked up the stray drops, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Not the sleeve, Mac had said. That's not how we roll now, Charlie.

Right. Well. That was fine by Charlie. Apples were cool, too. This one tasted. This one tasted like a cross between summer and fall, sticky and sweet and refreshing, and when he chewed, his mouth and nose were filled with a taste and aroma different from the strange forest's surroundings. And the flesh was firm without being too hard, and not too sweet or sour. Charlie could work his jaw in rhythm to his pulse, and not hear the muffled shouts from the trunk.

Maybe this wasn't the greatest idea. The thought struck Charlie as he bit through the apple's core. What they were doing, what they did was cool as fuck. Yeah. Couldn't argue with that. But. He felt a sharp bump against his leg a moment later, a tiny dent rising against the metal.

Then again, this whole situation would be loud, maybe bloody, so it was probably best that they'd driven out here, away from people.

And away from Philly.

Charlie stopped halfway through to putting the apple core halves in his mouth and swallowing.

Dude! That's the worst part! Don't eat the core. You'll fuck up your stomach.

So Charlie tossed the split core between two trees and pressed his hands against the hot metal of the trunk top. It felt nice for about half a minute, but then his hands started to sweat, and Charlie could feel the bumping against the metal again.

"Shit."

And he expelled a long breath, and stared at the ground. He didn't know what was up with the sky. It was cloudless and just went on and on and on. There weren't any concrete walls or panes of glass or spires of metal to interrupt all the blue. Maybe if he went beneath the trees, that'd better. Yeah. Trees were like. They were like buildings. For nature. Only they all looked the same, and didn't come in neat rows and weren't separated by streets or landmarks. And he probably wouldn't know how to drive back to Philly from here, since he'd been passed out for the entire car ride.

And. God, he'd started to sweat through his shirt and suit jacket, it felt like he'd just started riding on Adderall.

Charlie had already loosened his tie; he hadn't even kept his shirt fully buttoned, and the tie rode a few inches below his throat.

"Jesus."

Charlie pulled a grey rag out of his pocket and pressed it against his nose, inhaled deeply, and seconds later it felt like it would swell and pop. His eyes started to water, he sneezed, and his vision cleared. Charlie's eyes and face felt warm, but pleasant, and he could only register a heady scent. Like. Like

Charlie stared at his hands. He really couldn't find the right words. And damn if that didn't make him want to ram his elbow through the car window. It wouldn't work, though. Mac had tried a few days ago, his confidence as always effortless. All he'd succeeded in doing was making his arm go numb for three days, but Charlie wasn't going to judge. It would've looked awesome if Mac had broken the window, and even if he had failed, they now knew, for future reference, that you shouldn't try to break car windows with your elbow. Good to know.

A rustle of leaves and branches snared Charlie's attention. He raised his head and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, and felt thrilled at the cool relief of gun metal against his palm.

Mac walked through the clearing. His face was as alight and attentive as when he walked into Paddy's with a flourish of news.

"Eyo." Mac waved his free hand and hoisted a bright red gas container with the other. Charlie could tell by the sloshing sound that the container's contents were near the brim.

Charlie's heart rate had slowed, but the thrill, the pin pricks across his skin. Those spread. Mac had the first two buttons of his white shirt undone, though it was neatly tucked into a pair of black slacks, and a matching jacket clung to his frame. Charlie frowned, searching for the right words again. Elegant. Classy. Yeah. Dennis might brag about his 'awesome fashion sense' and 'perfectly proportioned body' but Mac wore a suit better than anyone Charlie had seen. And he had snuck into that lawyer's office plenty of times, so he'd seen lots of guys in suits.

"Man, there are some hot girls working at gas stations out here. We should leave Philly more often." Mac grinned, that bright, stupid.

Charlie set his jaw and took a deep breath. The car trunk was getting too hot.

"Yeah dude, great." He slid off the trunk and hit the ground softly. Mac set the gas container don the now empty space. He wasn't smiling anymore.

He seemed pensive, his whole face seeming to scrunch inward.

"Yeah, I'm thinking I should go back after this, see what goes down. She said I looked good in the jacket." Mac nodded to himself, hands on his hips as he stared off beyond the trees.

I say you look good in the jacket, Charlie thought blithely.

"Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh. Great. Mac. Great. But. People in the trunk. Gotta take care of that. Gotta. Take. Care of." Charlie pointed at the trunk several times, and fell silent as Mac walked around the car to examine himself in the left rear view mirror.

Charlie relaxed his arms and they hung at his sides.

"Dude, seriously?"

"What? I'd like to look half way decent for this."

"I don't believe this," Charlie muttered as he turned away. Mac finished, eventually, and when he came back around, he looked exactly the same to Charlie.

Mac reached out and Charlie frowned, took a step back.

"Relax, dude. I'm just straightening your tie."

Charlie shook his head. "I don't like having the top button done. It makes me feel like I'm choking."

"You do look like a dork with a fully done tie," Mac agreed. Charlie 'tsked but otherwise remained silent. Apparently Mac's definition of tie straightening was limited to aligning the knot with the hollow of Charlie's throat. He was careful, though, his fingers just barely brushing Charlie's exposed collar bone, and god damn if Mac's fussiness over certain things wasn't like rubbing his brain with sandpaper.

Mac scrunched his lips together as he finished his work. He stepped back, gave Charlie a once over, and nodded.

"Better."

"Great. Can, we. You know."

Mac replied by unholstering his gun.

Charlie's mouth dried, and his hands tingled. He gripped the car handle briefly, to ground himself. Before Mac could question the delay, Charlie pushed himself from the car. He mimicked his partner's motion, and withdrew his own gun from his jacket. Only then did Charlie realize he still held the rag in his left hand. With a rush, he stuffed it back into his front pocket.

Mac gave him a strange look. Charlie met Mac's eyes, even as his face started to sweat.

"Dude, did you eat the apple core?" Mac queried. His eyebrows rose, then fell.

"Uh." And a cool relief trickled over Charlie's body. "No. No. I threw it away. Over there." He gestured vaguely.

Mac's face relaxed.

"Good."

He then indicated the trunk with an inclination of his head, and raised his gun. Charlie followed suit with his own, leveling the barrel at the trunk's center. He and Mac exchanged a smile, and Charlie could tell, without even focusing, that Mac felt the same excitement, the swell of pleasure and heat from his face to his groin.

"Let's do this, Dirt Grub."

"You got it, Pussy Hands."

Mac popped open the trunk, and as Dennis and Dee's screams of terror bled into shouts of disbelief and indignation, Charlie only smiled distractedly and thought,

'Yeah, it's a good day to be a hit man.'


	2. 1:35 AM. Six Months Earlier

"Charlie, you almost done down there?" Mac called impatiently from the top of the stairs.

When he heard no response except for the continuous dull THWACK of Charlie's crude rat killer, Mac shook his head and went back to the bar. He poured himself another glass of whiskey. It tasted like crap, but whatever. It was better than going back to his apartment and listening to Dennis, that dickhole, have sex with the girl Mac had had his eye on for the last week.

And of course. Of course. Dennis had decided he had to have her first.

THWACK

Mac's lips formed an inverted crescent against the rim of his glass. It was too bad Dennis' mom was dead. Mac could have banged her. Then he would have had great sex and revenge. What was it Dee had wanted to do? Dig her mom up for her buried treasure? Something like that.

Mac smiled contently. Then he could rub that in Dennis' smug face.

THWACK

But then he didn't actually know where Dennis and Dee's mom was buried. Which meant he'd actually have to talk to Dee. And listen to her talk. And watch her crane her bird neck in weird and creepy ways.

Mac pursed his lips and pulled his mouth to the side.

Get back at Dennis for being a girl stealing man whore, and have to deal with Dee for the whole night, or drink shitty whiskey, then go back to Charlie's place and get black out drunk, and probably sniff glue.

Mac rubbed his face. This was really shitty whiskey. He shifted out of the stool, walked parallel to the bar and back to the basement door.

"Hey, Ch-"

Mac stopped short and backed up as Charlie came bounding up the stairs, eyes and face set. He brandished his nail-adorned rat killing club. Blood and bits of skin and globs of Mac didn't want to know what clung to the wood and metal.

"Charlie, goddammit, watch where you're swinging that thing." Mac raised his arms to shield his face, though the club was nowhere near him now.

Charlie paced behind the bar, the club resting on his left shoulder.

"I don't know man. I just." Charlie shut his eyes tightly and rubbed them. When he lowered his hands, his eye lids were tinged lightly with blood.

"Uh. Dude." Mac made a vague gesture at Charlie's face. "Rat guts."

But Charlie didn't seem to notice or care. He set the club on the bar.

"Yeah, rat guts. Great. Rat guts. You know that's just it, man. I spent like." Charlie waved his hand in front of his face. "Two hours down there, bashing in rat skulls, and I don't feel anything."

Mac spoke cautiously. "What do you usually feel? Other than nausea?"

Charlie shrugged. "I dunno. Something."

Mac stared at Charlie, who seemed completely content with standing behind the bar and rolling his bloody club back and forth.

"Dude, don't do that." Mac said disgustedly. He caught Charlie's wrist and held it above the bar. Mac met Charlie's eyes and frowned. They were usually wild with something, a poorly constrained impulse, or half formed, inarticulate idea. Even limpid from glue fumes, Charlie had the busiest eyes Mac had ever seen. Always had. Now they were just dull. Boring. And Mac found himself being pulled into that shroud of disinterest.

God damn it. He did not need this. Not on top of the whole Dennis fiasco. He probably hadn't even started banging her yet. Probably was just going on about his 'value' or whatever drawn out bullshit he did as part of his 'system.'

Mac's lip curled. But it was effective. Maybe he'd walk in on Dennis. Piss him off and catch a glimpse of Megan's tits, all at once. Mac started to smile.

Charlie tugged his hand down, face confused, eyes sparkling with. Something, before he became bored again.

Mac scowled.

"You wanna stop spreading rat guts all over the bar?"

Charlie rolled his eyes and said something undecipherable. Or maybe it was just gibberish.

"Whatever, man." He kept the club in his hand, which wasn't really much of a victory, since they were both out of the bar about a minute later. Mac stood behind Charlie as the other man locked the door.

"You don't have to like hover behind me every time I do this."

"Charlie, last time you closed the bar by yourself, you didn't lock the front door, and in the morning it was full of masturbating hobos, and Frank's weird Vietnamese friends."

Charlie scratched the back of his neck. "I think they're Chinese, man."

Mac waved his hands above his head. "I don't care! They eat raw animals, and the one with the long beard and the fake eye tried to give me sex drugs and naked pictures of his sister."

"Dude, he sells tea, and. I don't even know what the pictures are about." Charlie turned around and his expression stayed flat, like all the old soda sitting behind the bar.

"And you worry too much about this stuff. I've eaten raw animals, and it's not even a big deal."

"Damn it, Charlie." Mac turned away. His whole body felt tight and stretched, like a rubber band, just ready to snap.

"Let's just go back to your place and get drunk. All right, dude. That's all I want out of this night."

Mac's shoulders slumped at the thought. He was pathetic. Even Dee had plans tonight. Sure, they'd probably end with her being completely humiliated in front of multiple guys, but whatever. She wouldn't be sitting on Charlie's jizz stained couch.

"Whoa, wait up."

Charlie had already started down the street. He waved the club around his head as though swatting flies. Mac caught up with him quickly, but his presence went unnoticed, and really, that was just weird.

"You feeling OK there? I mean usually you're all pumped up after rat whacking."

Charlie muttered again.

"What?" Mac didn't want to deal with pre-high, zoned out Charlie before they'd even started on any glue.

"I don't even have any decent glue over at my place. And beer is great and all, but it just makes me piss, more than anything else. And don't get me wrong, pissing is great too, nothing like breaking the seal after a few beers, but I mean I piss like. Everyday. You know?"

"Right, Charlie." Mac rubbed his eyes. He was regretting not buying hard liquor. Still, it might be worth it to see how long Charlie could extend a piss.

"Oh God," Mac suddenly said. "Do you still have the fucking piss jar?"

"Uh, yeah." Charlie said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"That's so." Mac racked his fingers through his hair. It messed up his whole style, but at this point, he was going to an apartment where jars of piss just sat around in the open.

"Mac, calm down. We can't all live like kings, like you and Dennis."

Mac snorted. He stared up at the yellow light from the sodium lamps. It made the cracks in the walls and sidewalk seem infinitely deep and dangerous. Or that's what Charlie had said once, when they were both huffed out of their minds and trying to figure out which way the bar was. Mac toed a crack with the tip of his shoe; not so dangerous now, though Charlie still avoided each one like he actually believed every superstition.

They came to the last intersection before Charlie's apartment, and Mac already wanted to skip ahead and forget the whole night. Walking home hungover. Having to deal with Dennis' smug, sharp face. Waking up next to Charlie, who actually didn't smell that bad, in the aftermath of beer and vomit.

"Hey! What the fuck?"

Charlie's shouts snapped Mac's attention back in time for him to see his friend being shoved to the ground by a large man with a knife. As Charlie fell and the man rounded, Mac's honed battle instincts kicked in, he let out a shrill scream which he would later call a battle cry, and gave a sharp, upward kick which me most definitely did not intend to be a crotch shot.

Mac stood in shock and silence for several seconds as their assailant writhed on the ground. He was a big dude. Not as big as Mac, sure, but it was still nothing to brush off.

"Fuck."

Mac looked down. "Shit! Charlie, are you okay?"

But Charlie jumped with tremendous speed, just as the drug addict or hobo or Dee's ex boyfriend raised his scraggly hobo face and staggered to his feet.

"Dude. Dude." No. No. That was not a high pitched whine. That was not Mac's reaction to all this. That was his urgent commander voice. Issuing instructions to his subordinates. Issuing instructions as big knife dude gave Mac a look that reminded him way too much of the one his dad had offered right after he'd been arrested.

Charlie's manic faced danced into the light, and for once Mac was glad that his friend could make himself look like an enraged cannibal.

THWACK.

Mac blinked. Rat skull. Rat skull bash. Sound.

Thud Thud Thud.

That. That. Yeah, that would be his heart. And those dots of warmth on his face. That red stream spurting out of the guy's face. Oh. Blood.

Thud

Mac turned his head slightly and met Charlie's wide, bright absolutely pulsing out of his skull eyes.

Thud Thud

Charlie shrieked. Mac shrieked. They took turns shrieking at each other as knife guy stepped forward and grunted and sprayed more blood.

Mac took a breath, screamed again, and punched the guy in the face. Something cracked beneath his knuckles, and they went warm with blood. Charlie's screams sounded at regular intervals, like a broken alarm clock. Mac punched again and screamed while looking at Charlie.

Somewhere in all the chaos, Charlie yanked his club out of the guy's face, and with one last yell, they both sprinted the remaining distance to Charlie's apartment. Mac's knuckles were cool and sticky now, his throat raw, and his heart rate jacked. Distantly, Mac heard Charlie fumbling with his keys.

Oh God Oh God Oh God.

Mac's fists curled tightly, and he had to actively resist the urge to jump from foot to foot. Sweat ran down his neck and face, and a musty smell filled his nose.

"Shit. Shit. Why do they have to make keys so pointy?!" Charlie's voice rose higher with each word, until his agitation nearly garbled his speech beyond recognition.

"I don't know, dude. I don't know." Mac was breathless, and his hands just wouldn't stop moving, across each other, over his shirt and through his hair. Yeah, his style was definitely gone. It looked like he'd just been blown. Mac's hands passed before his face, blotched red. He had jackass blood all over his knuckles. That'd have to be washed off.

"Mrrrgh!" Charlie gnashed his teeth, and the sound disgusted Mac less than usual.

"Ah. Ah. OK. I had the wrong keys. Bar keys."

"Christ, Charlie." Mac gave a tentative glance at the intersection, held his breath and waited for the wash of blue and red lights. But no. No light. No car. Nothing. And yea, he'd still have to wash all this blood off his hands.

The door clicked, and Mac shoved both of hem through.

They stood at the bottom of the stairs, the air thick with stale smoke and their own sweat and the scent of blood.

Thud Thud Thud

Charlie was making agitated little noises, rolling the club between his hands and spreading blood all along his palms and up his fingers.

Thud

The fresh scent of metal hit Mac's nose, coupled with Charlie's heavy, acrid odor.

"Dude."

Charlie finally stilled. His eyes were wide and bright. And live, shorted fuses sparked behind them.

Thud Thud

"We. We annihilated that guy." Charlie smiled tentatively.

"Shit, and even though we were screaming."

"Those were battle cries," Mac cut in quickly. "But yeah, yeah." Mac felt light headed, warm and displaced from his body, as though at some point he'd been disembodied. That warmth was all liquid and flowing in his head now, fine and smooth as the premium whiskey he and Charlie used to steal from Dennis' house back in high school, and that warmth spread lower, until Mac felt himself bugle against the constraints of his pants. Pin pricks of light danced in his eyes.

He stared at Charlie, at his wild eyes, his parted mouth, his unwashed and bloody face and.

One of them grabbed the other. Mac pushed and pulled and his back hit the wall. Charlie's mouth. His hot wet mouth sucked on Mac's sweaty neck, and Mac could only stutter and groan.

Charlie gripped Mac's biceps, squeezed them, and Mac vaguely recalled that, yes, he worked out and his body was being admired shamelessly. He reached down and groped at Charlie's crotch, felt it through numb fingers, so he grasped harder, hands clumsy but confident before Charlie's stream of breathy, inarticulate encouragement. Charlie stopped speaking as his mouth pressed against Mac's skin again, and he leaned forward, pressed his hips toward Mac's, ground frenetically against his hand, rubbed their rough cheeks together until Mac could swear his face would burn and bleed but that just made him harder, made his breath hitch higher until he whimpered.

No, no he didn't whimper. He.

"Oh. Fuck."

Mac tilted his head back, and didn't care that the ceiling was streaked with yellow stains, or that he'd lost a girl, or he'd maybe probably killed a guy or that Charlie, his best friend Charlie had just brought them both to climax.

There was no afterglow to speak of; Mac slumped forward, somehow spent more deeply than Charlie, whose breathing was fast but more steady than Mac's. They shifted awkwardly against each other, Charlie moving his hands down for Mac's shoulders, before they settled tentatively just above his waist. Mac repressed a laugh, and his skin quivered under the touch. He really didn't know, if he should keep them this close, or try to coax them apart. Because this was this was. Well it was.

Mac wet his lips and shifted his weight. No, this was alright. This was just release. Mac's blood seemed to cool at the thought, though his body still hummed with adrenaline.

Charlie took the lead; he stepped back removed his hands from Mac's sides, and cleared his throat. He looked down and to the side.

Mac frowned. Charlie really did look like he'd been blown. Which was just. Gross? Normally, yeah. But now. Well.

"Uh," Mac tried, but couldn't get more out, even if he wanted to complain about how stupidly calm Charlie was being.

"So. Think we might have killed a guy," Charlie said conversationally. He ran the toe of his ratty sneaker over the dusty floor.

"Yeah." Mac's voice was soft.

Charlie nodded. He pressed his lips together, then relaxed them. He turned his head away from Mac, then scratched at his neck.

"So, this whole thing," Charlie waved his hand in front of him.

Mac nodded, again at a loss for what else to do.

Charlie continued. "It. Yeah. It uh. It felt." He ran a wet tongue over his lips and looked off again.

Thud Thud Thud

"Good," Mac finally managed, and his surprise was compounded when the word came out nearly normally.

"Yeah," Charlie said, his own voice becoming more animated. "Yeah it did feel good. I mean, not like, being knocked around and stuff. That shit sucked, but like. During. With me whacking and you punching. And oh. I so told you that we're all like rats, man. I told you. And then after, when we came back and got off. That was awesome."

"Charlie," and the old panic settled back into Mac's tone. "We didn't."

"We totally got off man. We totally. Got. Off. And it was awesome."

Mac frowned. Yeah. It was kind of awesome. Fast and so, so good. Like going for a week without jerking off, and then basically exploding in your pants just by rubbing on something.

"All right, fine, Charlie, we got off."

Charlie nodded rapidly. "Man, I don't think I even need to huff glue right now. I just." He took a deep breath, smiled briefly, and looked to Mac for some sort of affirmation.

"I could get drunk," Mac said, out of nowhere. He didn't need anything else tonight. No. His skin still felt sensitive, electrified, and that never happened when he drank, or even when he brought over some kind of really strong glue that came in a tiny metal tube.

"Nah, nah man. I don't wanna ruin this right now. This is like. Blowing my mind. Or something. Giving my mind a blow. Job. You know." Charlie shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Dude, I'm having a beer. One beer. And it'll be fine. Yeah." Mac's voice edged dangerously high again, so he shut his mouth and started toward the stairs.

"You're not freaking out about this, are you?" Charlie asked, seemingly serious.

Mac stopped. He was on the first step, looking forward.

"No. No man. No." He snorted and turned around. "I mean, I took out that guy, after you stuck your rat club in his face. I still need to wash his blood off my knuckles. It's all good." Mac flashed the back of his hands, waved them at Charlie, because really, he was missing a huge point here. "It's all good."

Charlie's face was blank and stupidly calm, just like when he huffed enough glue or paint. He nodded. "All right, man. Let's get a beer in you, then. All right." And Charlie pricked up his club and moved forward, past Mac, up the stairs like they'd walked back from the bar and hadn't maybe killed a hobo dude who had a knife. Mac hesitated for a few seconds before he followed. When they woke up tomorrow, and if things were still all good, then they could see where all this would take them. Maybe, probably killing a dude who probably wanted to stab you. That was big shit. Pretty badass shit.

Mac nodded to himself.

If they could handle something like that, then they could handle basically anything.

"Dude," Charlie stopped abruptly at the start of the top floor. Mac bumped into him, but couldn't form an accurate retort.

"I think I might have forgotten to lock the back door of the bar."

"God fucking damn it, Charlie."


	3. Chapter 3

The smell of piss. Fine. It wasn't even much of a smell anymore; it was some kind of background smear. Cat food. Wouldn't be home without that. Beer. Sweat. Yeah. All good. He'd expected vomit. Maybe a little blood. Wait. Blood was there, too. Really close too. A thin smell. Kind of like. Papery. Yeah. That was a good word. Really, there wasn't anything wrong with the smell of blood. People just freaked out about it because it reminded them of death. And.

Charlie's eyes opened wide. Right. They'd killed that dude last night. Probably. Maybe. Charlie's arms tingled with an imprint of the reverberation from his rat club smashing into that guy's skull. The thought made Charlie's mouth go dry, and almost made up for the fact that his face was shoved right up into Mac's left armpit.

Charlie snorted, his nose burning from something. Always something. He sneezed. At least Mac wore strong deodorant. But still, fuck him for always wearing sleeveless shirts. Actually regular sweat might have been better than whatever Mac wore. Still, Charlie didn't move his head. Mac smelled different than Frank. Better? Maybe. Charlie didn't really get all the shit he got for not showering. People like Mac, who did it twice a day smelled fine, yeah. But it wasn't some kind of obligatory smell that everyone had to have. So whatever.

Charlie raised his head higher, as a razor's edge of light hit his eye. He blinked the water away, yawned, then rolled over. The other side of the bed was colder. Frank was gone. No surprise. And it was probably better. Mac wasn't happy about the sleeping arrangements anyway, since 'the bathroom was even more gross than sleeping in jizz stained pants.'

Seriously. Mac need to lighten up.

Without thought, Charlie rolled off the bed, and hit the ground. He shuffled around, toward the hot plate. Mac was bitchy about food, too, so he wouldn't want something that wasn't from an oven or grill. Or microwave. But those things were freaky, so fuck them.

And really, so what if two dudes got each other off? He and Mac had known each other since grade school, and that was about. Over twenty years, at least. Charlie looked down at Mac. He'd turned over onto his stomach, and was splayed out over half the bed, hogging the sheets, like always. He considered waking Mac up, but right now, he needed to piss.

Charlie scratched his chest and grabbed the jar off the same table as the hot plate. He unzipped his pants and set the jar down. His boxers were stiff and yellowed at the front, and he had to peel himself off his groin.

"Son of a bitch." Charlie swore before started to relieve himself. He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he stared at the ceiling. Yellow splotches everywhere, just like on his boxers. He'd always wondered how jizz stains had wound up on the ceiling. Some REALLY powerful jacking off. Or maybe like a jizz gun. That'd be a weird invention. But that was probably what baby clinics used. Like on the women. It'd be uncomfortable, though. Maybe they had some kind of cream.

"Dude, what the hell?"

Charlie craned his head over his shoulder to look at Mac, who stared bleary eyed at the piss jar.

"Oh, hey man. Thought you'd be asleep longer." Charlie went back to peeing.

"I've been at this for almost a minute. I'm thinking this might be a good one."

"Charlie, god damn it. I did not wanna be woken up by you pissing in a jar." Mac turned over with an indignant mutter.

"Oh, you know what. Don't even give me that. You timed me the last time, when I broke two and a half minutes, and you were cheering right along with Frank."

"You weren't standing four feet from me, and your dick wasn't at face level."

Charlie finished and shook himself off.

"Whatever. You had your hand on my dick last night."

The mattress creaked sharply as Mac rolled over.

"I did not touch your dick."

Charlie zipped his pants and turned around. Mac stared at him intently, lips firm, face set, but eyes wide and fearful.

Charlie's lips parted slightly with an unspoken retort.

"All right. Whatever." Charlie walked to the other side of the bed, looking for his shoes.

Mac stayed quiet the whole time, probably staring at the window on the opposite side of the room.

"You think there'll be anything about that hobo or whatever in the paper?"

Mac relaxed, and Charlie didn't understand why.

"Shit, I don't know." Mac rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. "We just have to keep our mouths shut. Dennis and Dee can't find out."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. That might get kind of awkward. And Dennis would probably get like. Jealous that we did something without him."

Mac sat up.

"Charlie, that's not the point. We. Okay. Let's say that guy's dead. I don't wanna go to jail, and probably get ass raped. Jail would not be a good place for a guy like me. And you. You would definitely get ass raped."

"What? Why would I get ass raped?"

"Because you're little and jumpy. And all those other guys would just assume that you're a power bottom. You've got too much energy."

Charlie shook his head soundlessly for a few seconds.

"What? What is that even? I don't know what a power bottom is, but if anyone's a bottom, it's you man."

Mac's eyes narrowed. "I'm not a bottom, Charlie. If I were with another dude. And. I'm not saying I would be, but if I were, I'd be on top."

Charlie frowned and said slowly, "So you'd be the one ass raping people?"

"No!" Mac yelled. "No one is getting ass raped! No one is going to jail."

"But you said I'd get ass raped."

"Charlie. Just. Jesus." Mac rubbed his scalp and rolled to the edge of the bed and swung his legs out. His feet touched the floor and he winced.

"They've invented vacuums, Charlie."

Charlie rolled his eyes. Mac never stopped babbling about this kind of shit. It was better to just let him vent. And he did. 'God, why are there so many crumbs? And the dust. More wolf hair, really?' And 'Oh my god, is that another piece of shit?'

Charlie just stared at the ceiling until Mac stopped rambling. At this point Mac was on his feet, and somehow had a toothbrush and a tube of tooth paste in his hand.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Charlie spoke as though a toothbrush was the strangest thing he'd ever seen.

Mac sighed.

"I always bring a toothbrush to your place, since you don't own one."

"Oh. Well." That was true, Charlie guessed. But Mac didn't have to be so pissy about it.

"I'm gonna use your kitchen sink."

Charlie nodded. When Mac had finished, about five damn minutes later, he gave Charlie an appraising look, then thrust the toothbrush toward him.

"Here. Brush your teeth."

Charlie frowned and stepped back.

"Dude. No. I don't. I don't need to brush my teeth." Charlie attempted to laugh it off, but Mac's serious expression didn't waver.

"Brush your teeth. Dude, last night. Your breath woke me up like three times. It's bad. And you need to fix it. And you don't need to lose anymore teeth."

Charlie didn't know what to say to that. OK, so he had lost a tooth or two in the last few months but. Well. That probably wasn't a good thing, but Mac sounded so god damn pushy.

"OK, you know what Mac. Don't talk to me about. Smells. All right. Because I woke up to a face full of your armpit. And you're hairy. And your deodorant is way too strong. That was really the worst part, because you don't actually smell that bad."

Mac had his 'what the fuck?' face on.

"I don't smell that bad? Why were you smelling me in my sleep?"

"I wasn't smelling you! You and your stupid sleeveless shirts, and you roll over, and you get your. Deodorant all over me."

Mac stepped forward and jabbed the toothbrush at Charlie.

"Do not diss my shirts, Charlie. They give me the freedom of motion that I need to execute defensive and offensive maneuvers, as well as showcase my fantastic physique."

"Oh my god," Charlie said to the ceiling. "And the freedom of motion to shove people's faces all up under there too. And you kicked that guy in the gnads. Your arms were never involved."

Mac looked on the verge of some kind of explosion.

That might be cool, Charlie thought briefly. Then he remembered that yeah, things would kind of suck without Mac around. No one else ever wanted to huff glue with him, and it was impossible to find people to throw rocks at shit with.

"Just. Brush your damn teeth." Mac held out the brush again.

"Fine." Charlie took the purple handle grudgingly; there was already tooth past on the bristles.

"Wet the brush first," Mac said right as Charlie was ready to start.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Charlie 'tsked. "Fine." He held the bristles under cold water for a few seconds, then started to brush. Immediately he wanted to gag, because no one needed that much mint in their mouth. But then Mac would get all bitchy again, so he stuck it out. After a while, he tasted copper, and it took him a beat to realize his gums were bleeding.

"Uh, yeah, I don't think this is supposed to happen, man." Foam and blood dribbled down Charlie's chin, and he gave Mac a confused look.

"Oh, jeez. Just finish, and we'll get mouthwash later today."

"I mean my gums, they don't bleed when I don't brush my teeth so I don't know why you're saying it's so good for me."

"Charlie, stop talking. You're getting crap all over your shirt."

Charlie shrugged and went back to work. It was less disgusting now; at least he didn't feel like gagging.

"Tongue. Make sure you brush your tongue. That's where all the crap builds up."

God, Mac just needed to shut up sometimes. Charlie did as told, though. And again, it wasn't that bad, even when he nearly swallowed the brush by shoving it too far down. Charlie gagged shortly after that, coughed most of the blood and spit into the sink before he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. He coughed weakly for another few seconds, and examined the toothbrush again, as though it were a novelty.

"Well that kind of sucked."

Mac stared just long enough for Charlie to recall that most people usually washed their mouths out, so he did that, and by then, Mac had lowered his head into his palm and was trying to contain himself again.

"Whatever. What time is it?"

Charlie looked around. He didn't know if the clock was still on the wall, or if someone had knocked it down, or if Frank had used it as as frisbee again. That had been a good time.

"Just check your phone, dude."

"Batteries are dead," Mac muttered.

Charlie sighed. He patted his pant pockets and to his surprise felt the bump of his phone.

"Yeah, here we go. Oh. Shit. It's after ten, dude." Charlie let Mac see the screen.

"Seriously? I needed to get home and shower."

Charlie waved his hand. "You're fine, dude."

"Yeah, I guess the guy who woke up and started sniffing me would know."

"Dude, I did not. Arrgh. Forget it, forget it." Charlie pressed his lips together before he grinned bright and wide.

"But you know, you totally touched my dick last night."

Mac opened his mouth. His jaw worked, shifted, then snapped shut with a 'clack.' His cheeks were tinged with red.

"Shut the fuck up."

 

"Where have you two ass monkeys been?"

Dee greeted them from across the bar as Charlie and Mac walked in. Mac had insisted they stop at a drug store so he could buy some body spray, and they'd wound up wasting nearly a half hour while Mac sampled each bottle to figure out which one best complemented his 'masculine presence.'

"Oh, you know. Had kind of a fun night. Drank some beer. Killed some rats. Made some."

"Nothing happened on the way back from the bar," Mac said in a rush, and all eyes shifted to him.

"Well, no one said it did," Charlie added, his voice higher than he'd intended. But at least he hadn't blurted something out like a complete spaz.

Mac just stared wide eyed from Charlie to Dee for a few seconds.

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Oh, is that a news paper?" Mac snatched the paper off the counter, and walked off to a corner of the bar. He gestured for Charlie to follow.

Charlie shrugged at Dee before he went after Mac, who had the paper spread across a table and was scanning each headline.

Charlie moved up next to Mac and remained quiet for a few seconds before he said,

"Well, that was smooth."

Mac shook his head.

"Just help me look. Look for photos of the dead guy."

Charlie didn't move.

"Dude, we're not gonna find anything. There'd be cops along the street if they'd found a dead guy. Guess he must have walked away."

"Dead bodies don't get up and walk away, Charlie." Mac paused. "Unless they're zombie bodies." He seemed to give the possibility serious thought.

"He might not have been dead," Charlie said as the office door opened and Dennis walked out. He potted Mac and stalled in his path to the bar.

"Where the hell did you get to last night? I called you then and this morning, and you just. Didn't pick up." He sounded almost petulant.

Mac's apprehension and uncertainty vanished from his face, replaced by a dark glare that made Charlie think of bloody knuckles and metal raking against skin. Charlie muttered and bit his lip.

"Spent last night at Charlie's place. My phone died, so there wasn't an alarm. How was your night?"

The irony in Mac's tone escaped Dennis, who responded with full enthusiasm.

"Oh, it was great, bro. That girl? Mandy? Yeah. She was. Pretty into what I was giving."

Mac's eyes narrowed further, and his lip curled. Charlie grabbed him by the arm and tugged.

"Hey Mac. Why don't you come help me with that thing I have to do in the bathroom?"

Confusion relaxed Mac's face, and Charlie continued to pull, until they both cleared out into the bathroom, and had left an offended Dennis in their wake.

"Charlie. Damn it." Mac pulled his arm back sharply once they'd entered the bathroom.

Charlie's hands were curled into fists, and he couldn't keep his eyes locked on one spot.

"So I'm feeling kind of." He gestured and Mac didn't get it. "I'm feeling." Again, no good. "I wanna get off."

"What?" Mac jumped back. "What the hell, Charlie?"

"Oh come on, don't you feel it? When you got all angry at Dennis, and you looked like you wanted to punch someone? Yeah. That. That right there."

"What's your point?" Mac asked wearily.

"I remembered how you took that guy down last night. And how fucking awesome it felt after. It was. A killgasm!" Charlie snapped his fingers. "And it was. Amazing. I don't think I'm gonna be able to off like that normally, dude."

Mac looked horrified for all of five seconds before his face slackened.

"Shit."

Charlie nodded curtly, and neither of them said anything, which was good, because Charlie had to think, was on the verge of something dramatic and life altering.

"We've gotta beat someone up to get off. Or maybe. You know. Kill them. Maybe. I think bashing them will be enough, though."

Mac sounded hopeful.

"You think?"

"Yeah man. But we need to find someone. Like. A hobo or something."

"We could stage hobo fights. Put that alongside project badass."

"Nah, we don't want any evidence. We just wanna get off. Like last night."

Mac's mood immediately soured, but Charlie was saved from a lecture by Dennis opening the door and bringing with him his usual accusations.

"If you guys are done whispering your little secrets to each other, we've got work to do."

"Uh, excuse me. But, could we just have some privacy in here? All right, some privacy? How about that?" Charlie really didn't have the patience for any of this right now.

"Are you two blowing each other in here or something?" Dennis managed to sound weirded out and resentful at the same time.

"No! Jesus!" Mac was more exasperated than defensive. "Are there even any customers out there right now?"

"Well, not right now. But there will be later."

"No one goes to a bar at 11 AM. All we have in here right now are those random old dudes who drink our old beer and eat those packets of peanuts that Frank stole from the airport."

Dennis was still non-plussed. "There's still stuff to do. Like in the bathroom. At the bar. Tables."

Charlie knew Mac's patience was waning, and, much as he really wanted to watch a fist fight between Dennis and Mac, he also kind of didn't feel like cleaning blood and spit off the toilets right now."

"All right. All right. I'm just gonna go grab a beer, and then I'll start doing whatever I should be doing, and Mac can get back to being head of security, I guess."

Dennis and Mac both turned to stare at Charlie in shock. He shrugged and didn't think anything of it, even when the small grin appeared slowly on Mac's face, in defiance of Dennis' staunch incredulity.

The grin was good enough, Charlie supposed. Mac deserve to feel good about himself every now and then, like everyone else.

Mac followed Charlie out of the bathroom; Dennis still hadn't recovered.

"Hey Dee, make yourself useful and grab us two be-"

Mac froze and stopped speaking in a blink. Charlie looked to the front of the bar, frowned, and pursed his lips.

Two guys in sweat suits. Where the hell had he seen?

Oh.

Charlie's eyes widened in time with Mac's combination gasp, cry.

One of the guys grinned and extended his arms.

"Pussy Hands! Long time no see."

Mac and Charlie slowly exchanged looks, and their mouths worked in sync.

"Oh shit."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over a year since I've updated this, but I haven't forgotten about or abandoned this story, and I'll make every effort to get at least a few chapters out in the coming weeks. Thank you to everyone who reads, enjoys, and reviews.

"Shit shit shit shit shit." Mac's mantra gave his whole body impetus, and he hadn't stopped circling around the same patch of bare concrete since Vinnie and what's his face had basically abducted him and Charlie from the bar.

"Dude. Calm down." Charlie hadn't stood since he'd been tossed in the room.

Mac stalled so abruptly he almost fell over.

"Are you shitting me, Charlie? Calm down? We've just been kidnapped by the same guys we almost got wasted by a few months ago. You know, when Frank whored Dennis out to pay off our debt?"

Charlie said something unintelligible and hunched over further. He looked almost like one of the rats he usually beat to a pulp. Mac frowned at his comparison.

"Charlie, did you hear anything I just said?"

"Yes! Okay? I'm trying to do some calming breathing here, okay?" Charlie took several deep, quick breaths to apparently demonstrate his mastery of calming air intake.

Mac stepped closer. "Charlie, stop with the meditative breathing crap and listen."

"What Mac? What do you want me to listen to? That we're gonna get ass raped? Is that it? Because I don't need to listen to how you constantly think about ass rape right now, okay?"

"Damn it, Charlie I am not thinking about ass rape! I'm thinking that we're going to get our legs broken, and then have our broken bodies tossed into the river."

"And we'd be eaten by crabs," Charlie nodded frantically. He chewed on the tip of his left thumb nail, again like a rat, and stared ahead at the concrete wall. "Yeah, eaten by crabs."

Mac mouthed 'what the fuck.'

"Charlie." He shook his head. There wasn't any point. They were both about to have their knees broken and their bodies thrown into the river and Charlie was babbling about crabs. Jesus.

"Jesus fuck." Mac almost resumed pacing, but Charlie's hand shot out and grabbed his forearm, and he most definitely did not jump back and shriek.

Charlie didn't even notice; he stared at Mac with a dead calm expression, and insanity in his eyes. Mac swallowed and ignored the growing weight between his legs.

"Dude. We can get off."

"What?" Mac couldn't deny the higher pitch in his voice

Charlie moved in closer, and pulled Mac forward.

"We can get off. It's just like we talked about in the bathroom this morning."

Mac frowned at the possible misconceptions those words could bring, but Charlie didn't notice.

"When those guys come in here, we can bash them and get off, just like with the guy off the street." Charlie's tongue ran across his lips and now he nodded slowly and deliberately.

Mac's mouth went dry, his heart beat sped. His adrenaline barely touched what he'd felt last night, but he could still recall Charlie's beard rubbing against his, Charlie's hands on his crotch, mouth on his neck.

"Fuck." Mac exhaled hugely.

Charlie gave one slow nod, a smile stretching his features.

"Yeah."

"Okay." Mac exhaled again. "Okay. So. How about. I stand right in front of the door, and be all intimidating, and then while those guys are all scared out of their asses, you jump on one of them and start biting their necks or whatever the hell else you do when you get really pissed off at people."

"What? No dude, no. I'm not gonna jump on anyone and start biting them. I'm gonna bash them, and then get off. That's how it works. Bash and get off."

"Charlie I know you bite when you're angry and pissed. I've seen it happen before. Remember that mall Santa you basically killed?"

"Oh whatever man. Just. I'll bash them, okay?"

"Charlie, you can't bash shit. You bite and you hit people with your rat club, which you don't have right now."

"Oh, right right." Charlie stood as he rolled his eyes, basically into the back of his skull. Mac was strangely fascinated.

"Because you're just so good at bashing people with your hands, like when you hit that guy. Where'd you hit him Mac? Oh yeah! The balls. With your foot."

Mac sputtered. "That. That is bullshit Charlie and you know it!"

"Oh right, it's bullshit Mac. Because I wasn't there, like a foot from you when it happened. Okay." Charlie muttered something and nodded abruptly.

Mac stepped forward until his chest would have touched Charlie's, if they were the same height. He grabbed Charlie by the shoulders and loomed over his face. Normally being this close to Charlie's face would give him a nose full of cheese and cat food, but instead the scent of fresh mint hit him, and Mac paused in pleasant surprise.

"Nice," he muttered and allowed a small smile.

"Uh." Charlie leaned back slightly, and indicated the door with head.

"We, uh, interrupting something here between you two, pussyhands?"

Mac stared at his captors with the same expression of shock he had when they'd first entered the bar.

Charlie spoke up. "No." His voice was high pitched. Mac gave another smile.

Charlie cleared his throat and stepped back further. He struck a pose with his hands on his hips.

"Well, my associate and I were just discussing. We were just discussing the situation, and well, we do not appreciate being abducted from our place of business and being brought here against our will. Okay?"

Mac's shocked expression remained, only he directed it at Charlie. Was Charlie really standing up to gangsters? Though his voice was high, and his hands shook…

Said gangsters looked more confused than anything. The one in the blue jump suit stepped forward.

"You know, you two just came with us to our car when we asked. And pussyhands looked like he was about to piss himself. But. I digress." The man reached into his right pocket.

Time sped, so fast that Mac didn't even have enough to move forward and land a kick on the man's groin.

Wait! No No No No! He would not kick the guy in the in the gnads, he would run up, like the badass he was, and execute a perfect roundhouse kick. Just like.

Something hit Mac's chest. He blinked and looked down. A wad of cash. Had to be at least a few grand. He reached down, and before he touched the bills, something crashed into the corner to Mac's left. He jumped back and saw the splintered remains of the chair Charlie had previously occupied, and then turned to see Charlie himself, arms over his head, breathing like he'd just taken a lap around the block.

"Charlie. What the fuck?"

"Gun." Charlie exhaled. "Gun. They. Had gun."

"Damn it. Charlie, it was money. They threw money at us. And that chair. You threw it away from the dude you thought had the gun. Like. Ten feet away."

"Yeah, well. I didn't see you do shit. You just stood there and stared as he threw. Money." Charlie stopped, and looked down. "Oh holy shit, there's like 5 grand down there."

"You guys are nuts." The man who'd thrown the money at Mac appraised him favorably. "How'd you tow wackos like a job?"

"A huh, ahuh." Charlie nodded in agreement as he counted his money. "Yeah. Job, that'd be great, except I really don't think."

"Charlie, shut up." Mac examined his own wad. Yeah, at least five grand. "Why are you guys giving us money?"

Mac's eyes widened.

"Wait. Wait are you paying us to smuggle drugs up our asses? Because I am saying right now, I am not shoving anything up my ass. Nope. Couldn't do it for my dad, not gonna do it for you."

Charlie stopped counting. "Oh dude. Is that the kind of job you want us to do? No. No. Not doing that again. I mean, I guess after a while I kind of got used to it, but you know, if you get even a little nervous, you're gonna have a huge mess on your hands, and I don't wanna have to deal with that shit again. I mean. Yeah. You know what I mean."

"OK, Charlie. I don't even wanna know. But, I totally back you up on the no things up our asses thing. Even for a lot of money."

Charlie nodded rapidly in agreement.

Silence. Mac received a duo of 'what the fuck' looks, though really, most of that had to be getting directed at Charlie.

"See? Told ye these guys are nuts." Blue track suit guy shook his head. "We're not interested in shoving anything up your asses. Seems you're right along to do a pretty good job all by yourselves."

Mac glanced at Charlie. He was stupidly calm, even with these assholes insinuating that they were going to do something gay like stick their dicks in each others' asses. Whatever. They weren't going to get their legs broken and be thrown into the river. And they had cash.

"So, uh," Charlie said. "What's with the money, if you don't want to put heroine up our butts?"

"Last night, you did us a really big favor. Got rid of someone we'd been after for a while. And seeing as how you and your, uh, associate, don't shy away from the more distasteful side of life, we wanted to offer out sincerest gratitude, and offer the opportunity to earn even more."

Blue track suit finished with a smile that Mac couldn't really return, even though the weight of the cash in his hand made seemed to go straight to the corners of his mouth.

"You want us to bash people. That's what you want, right?" Charlie sounded eager, though he didn't smile. Mac tilted his head a bit and caught a look at Charlie's eyes. Same crazy energy.

"Bash people. Hah. I like that. Yeah, if that's what you wanna call it, go right ahead. But, uh, there's a lot of money in it for you. Plenty more than what we just gave you."

"Dude, yeah!" Charlie enthused before Mac could speak. "I mean, the money is awesome but." He turned to Mac with an expression that was almost needy. No, no. Hungry.

Mac twitched as a jolt ran through his body. Damn it. Damn it, Charlie was right. And Charlie giving him a look like that. Like he actually wanted him. Jesus. He needed to find a girl after this.

"We could. Get off," Mac said quietly, and that only made Charlie nod more vigorously.

"Yeah. Get off. Whatever you're into."

Mac noticed that the second guy had yet to drop his 'what the fuck' face, and that he'd moved closer to door since entering the room.

Huh. Guess it'll be even nicer to be paid to bash people than I thought. Which reminds me.

"So…who do we have to bash first?" Mac was pleased at how deep and steady his voice sounded. He could leave the high pitched shrieking to Charlie.

"Eager? Good. I like that."

Charlie came up closer to Mac, until their shoulders just touched. Lightly enough to be an accident. Fine. Whatever.

"You're gonna teach a little lesson to a dirty son of a bitch who thought it'd be a good idea to come around and mess with some of our dogs. Now this guy. He's a really mangy, slippery one. Doesn't look like much, but we haven't been able to get to him yet."

"Huh." Charlie scratched at his beard. "Dude kind of sounds familiar, doesn't he?"

Mac nodded and frowned. That description did sound familiar, but he couldn't really put a name or face on it yet. Not that it really mattered.

"All right." Mac centered himself. He was the one who should be dealing with these guys and talking business, not Charlie. "Who do you want us to. You know."

"Bash." Charlie supplied enthusiastically.

"Goddammit, Charlie," Mac muttered.

"Guy goes by the name Rickety Cricket."

Mac slowly turned his head to look at Charlie. Slow smiles formed on each of their faces in tandem. Charlie nodded.

"I think we can accommodate you there."


End file.
